The sky did not weep for Drystan; it shattered.
The moment those three words left Chinua's lips, eight thousand throat-cleaving war cries tore through the valley, drowning out the whistle of the mountain wind. There was no tactical retreat, no deliberate pacing, and no mercy left within the Magoli ranks. Years of iron discipline melted into a single, terrifying instinct born of shared grief and absolute fury. War drums thundered like deafening cracks against the stone cliffs of Mopia. Before the blood on the rocks below Ngabo's walls could even cool, a dense, lethal volley of black-feathered arrows surged forward—arching low and pinning into the dirt around Drystan's fallen body, forming a protective ring of iron to ensure no horse or boot would trample his remains during the coming storm.
Standing atop the battlements, General Phia ducked behind his shield, bracing for the volley. But to his surprise, the arrows never rose high enough to strike the soldiers on the ramparts. In that chilling moment, he finally understood: they hadn't broken the enemy's spirit by executing their captain—they had stripped the People's Princess of her mercy, unleashing a demon upon Ngabo.
Below, the Magoli vanguard spread across the battlefield, stretching across the entire length of the front wall. The Paayasian defenders braced themselves to absorb the fiery wrath of the assault, but to their astonishment, the main line held its ground in eerie, silent discipline. Then, the far-right flank broke away in a rapid, coordinated sweep, surging straight toward the two stone bridges in the distance.
"General... why haven't they attacked the walls yet?" Bliang asked, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword hilt.
"They are waiting," Phia said, the last lingering embers of hope draining from his voice as he realized the true brutality of Chinua's trap.
"Waiting for what?" Mingle pressed, his breath catching in his throat.
"Waiting to shatter our fighting spirit by destroying our only escape and reinforcement route," Phia said, his lips turning deathly pale. He turned to face his three captains, his gaze severe. "Do not let a single word of this reach the men on the walls."
"Understood," the three captains replied in unison.
Riding hard away from the main Hmagoli vanguard, Zhi, Khartsaga, and five hundred heavy cavalry thundered across the open plain at full gallop, heading straight for the two wooden bridges connecting Ngabo City to Zouis City.
Reaching the central junction, the five hundred riders split into two synchronized columns without breaking stride. Zhi led two hundred and fifty horsemen veering south toward the lower bridge, while Khartsaga and the remaining riders veered north toward the upper crossing.
As Zhi's column closed in on the southern bridge, the front rank loosed a barrage of oil-soaked arrows, pinning the flaming shafts directly into the thick wooden support beams lining the structure. Close behind them, horsemen hurled heavy clay pots of oil onto the deck, followed immediately by a second volley of fire arrows. The bridge erupted into a roaring wall of flame, forcing the panicked Paayasian guards and fleeing refugees on the far bank to scramble back for cover.
Zhi's men moved with practiced, lethal efficiency. On the riverbank, a crew swiftly deployed a portable ballista, driving heavy iron bolts through the key wooden tension pillars anchoring the structure. Working in tandem, cavalrymen rode alongside, hooking thick braided ropes to the weakened beams and tying the other ends securely to their saddles.
"Pull!" Zhi shouted.
The riders slammed their spurs into their mounts' flanks. The horses surged forward as one, straining against the ropes. With a sickening, splintering groan, the main support beams gave way. The entire structure tore apart, tumbling into the surging river below with a violent crash that shook the very ground beneath their feet.
A moment later, a second thunderous crash echoed from far upstream. The northern bridge had fallen.
Looking back at the roaring infernos and splintered wreckage, Zhi knew the job was complete. The two wooden lifelines connecting Ngabo to Zouis City were gone, consumed by fire and churning rapids. The Paayasian defenders were entirely trapped—with no path for retreat and no hope of incoming reinforcements.
With a sharp whistle, Zhi signaled his men. The five hundred cavalrymen wheeled their mounts away from the riverbanks and thundered back toward the main battle line, leaving behind only the rising plumes of dark smoke and the blazing ruins of the bridges for the horrified Paayasian soldiers and civilians to witness.
Chinua sat motionless upon her mount, eyes closed, waiting for the signal. She forced herself to take slow, deliberate breaths, systematically cooling the roaring inferno in her chest. An angry mind was a fatal flaw in a commander—a general who marched to war fueled by blind rage was simply leading her soldiers into a graveyard. She held eight thousand lives in her hands, and every command she uttered carried a price paid in blood.
She waited in the stillness, each second dragging by like an eternity, until a thunderous blast echoed across the valley. The earth trembled violently beneath them, causing her warhorse to stumble with a soft, nervous neigh.
Chinua opened her eyes. With a subtle nudge of her boots against her horse's flanks, she guided her mount several steps back into the command line.
"Catapults!" Chinua ordered, her voice crisp and resonant.
The cavalry units parted seamlessly to the flanks, opening wide lanes for five massive wooden catapults to be wheeled forward into position.
"Shield wall!"
At her command, the heavy infantry surged forward like a sweeping wave of black iron. Crossing just past the three-hundred-yard marker, they locked their massive tower shields together, forming an unbroken, impenetrable wall. Tucked safely behind this moving fortress, teams of engineers slowly rolled ten heavy arrow-launching engines into place.
Chinua raised her spear high, her gaze locking onto the high stone ramparts of Ngabo.
"BURN THEM DOWN!"
High on the city walls, the Paayasian defenders scrambled into formation, drawing their bows to full tension the moment the Magoli line advanced.
"Soldiers of Payapasa!" Phia roared, his voice cutting through the panic as he drew his own bow. "This is our land! This is where our ancestors were born, and where they bled! We will not yield our home to the enemy!"
He held his bowstring taut, his knuckles white against the wood. As the shadow of the coming onslaught darkened the sky, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, whispering a quiet plea to the wind:
"May heaven have mercy on us..."
Down on the field, the Magoli crewmen moved with practiced speed, hauling heavy clay pots brimming with oil onto the catapult cradles. With a synchronized release, the arms snapped forward, hurling the projectiles high into the sky. The pots crashed violently against the stone battlements, shattering over the walls and raining thick, slippery oil across the ramparts and the soldiers below.
Panic erupted along the parapets. "Oil! It's oil!" Paayasian soldiers screamed, wiping the black grease from their armor.
"This is how they burned Mopia Gate!" Yongyee shouted over the din.
"Hold your positions!" Phia bellowed, striding down the battlements. "Fetch the sand and dirt sacks! Smother the oil before it catches! Quickly!"
Desperate Paayasian infantry scrambled to haul heavy sacks of earth, slashing them open and dumping mounds of sand over the shattered pottery and slick pools of black grease.
Down below, Chinua raised her spear, thrusting it forward in a single, decisive signal. At her command, the ten heavy ballistas surged forward, their massive tension ropes snapping with a thunderous crack. Huge timber bolts—thick as tree trunks—flew through the air, slamming with brutal force into the upper and lower stone faces of the city walls.
"Arrow machines, advance!" Haitao's voice boomed across the ranks.
Twenty lighter arrow engines rolled smoothly into position behind the heavy ballistas.
"Archers, part ranks!" Naksh and Jeet called out in unison, their voices echoing along the front line as the infantry created wide lanes for the siege engines to pass.
High on the battlements, Phia saw the deadly machines locking into place. "Brace for impact!" he shouted, raising his shield. "Archers, draw and hold!"
"Knock down those archers!" Jeet's voice boomed across the front lines.
The twenty arrow engines tilted upward, their heavy frames groaning as the crew locked them into position, leveling their iron sights directly at the Paayasian archers along the high parapets.
"Don't leave a single one breathing," Timicin said, turning his cold gaze toward Och, Chaghatai, Erden, and Terbish.
"For Drystan," Och growled, his knuckles white against his weapon.
"For Drystan!" the four squad leaders roared in unison.
The war machines unleashed hell. Operating in seamless, devastating rotation, the first ten engines fired as one, their massive bowstrings snapping with the force of thunder. As they pulled back to reload, the remaining ten engines immediately loosed their volley, creating a continuous, relentless storm of heavy iron streaming toward the city walls.
The Paayasian defenders raised their tower shields to absorb the shock, but the raw power of the siege engines was overwhelming. These were not standard arrows—they were the size of spears. The brutal projectiles punched straight through wood and iron, embedding themselves into shields and soldiers alike, throwing men off the battlements and pinning defenders against the stone walls.
Then, just as the terrified Paayasian soldiers thought the worst of the barrage had passed, the sky above them turned a blinding, infernal orange. A massive sea of flaming arrows crested the horizon, arching directly toward the oil-soaked ramparts.
"General! Fire arrows!" a panicked soldier screamed.
Phia spun around toward the sky, and for a fraction of a second, his heart nearly stopped.
"Stand your ground!" he shouted, his voice hoarse over the roaring chaos.
Before the words could even settle, the first flaming arrow struck the main banner pole. The wood erupted instantly into a blaze, the fire hungrily climbing upward until the golden flag of Payapasa was entirely consumed by flames.